"Urban fantasy" ends up being a bit of a slippery genre. At one point, Miller calls it "a cross of fairy tale, noir and classic coming-of-age narrative." There's sex and romance aplenty-though in varying ratios, depending on the series in question-but the stories generally avoid the pat, happily-ever-after endings usually found in romance novels. In Miller's depiction, the books are delicious but also nutritious-perfect for those nights "when my brain is just too weary for
Ian McEwan
but not soft enough to settle for
The Mentalist
.

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Besides being an excellent service piece-thanks for mapping out my summer reading list, Laura!-the essay also offers a fascinating glimpse into the ways we categorize art, particularly pulpy "genre" art, and art that's by (or for) women. Urban fantasy novels are sometimes called "paranormal romances," a term that, as Miller shows, can be wielded with a sneer. Snobbery sucks, but I'm hardly one to throw stones-I'd heard that label before, and even though I'm a big fan of both of those constituent elements (demons? sex? what's not to like?), I never really bothered to check out the offerings. Thank god, then, for critics like Miller, who know how to make us feel good about eating our candy.